


The Way Your Doe Eyes Slow Dance Me

by sellswordking



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sellswordking/pseuds/sellswordking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is so, so much to be done; it <i>has</i> to be done or they're going to die in this canyon, but Wash is just . . . tired. He's way, way too tired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Your Doe Eyes Slow Dance Me

Wash threw himself down on his bunk, exhausted. Things were crazy in the base, or worse than usual anyway. If shit wasn't breaking left and right, Tucker was mouthing off and crabbier that normal, and the Reds seemed to itch for a fight. Even _Grif_ was somehow more active and angry; it was driving Wash out of his mind.

The only thing that had been a relief was the fact that _Caboose_ of all people had somehow managed to stay out of trouble.

It might have been the fact that, despite finding . . . whatever it was he was so excited about finding, he was still upset over Church’s disappearance after the crash, or it might have just been his way of dealing with being in unfamiliar territory, but either way Wash didn’t have it in him to question or try to fix the kid. 

Even now there were things he was meant to be doing for the morning, but all of his energy was just . . . _gone_. Stolen by Tucker in effort to keep him from actually shooting himself or anyone else, drained by Sarge’s insistence on there still being a war between their “sides” despite how he was constantly stealing tools and supplies from their base. Wash rested an arm over his eyes, telling himself every minute that the next would be the one he got up and finished preparing for the morning where they would inevitably start the annoying cycle all over again.

Unless it didn’t wait until morning.

There was a soft knock at the makeshift door, the only warning Wash got before it opened up and Caboose stepped in.

“Hello Agent Washington.” Caboose was quiet, and his lips were pulled into a hesitant little smile. He didn't say anything else, and after two minutes of solid silence, Wash finally realized that he was going to have to move this conversation along if he wanted it to end soon.

Wash sighed and started to sit up, but a hand on his chest stopped him. He was lowered back to the thin mattress and for a moment he was too confused to ask why. Caboose dropped down to his knees next to the bed, and the heavy ‘thud’ made Wash both worry and wonder about the pain tolerance that Caboose continually showed because the hesitant smile didn't falter from his bright face.

“You look tired, Agent Washington. You don’t have to get up, I will sit here and talk to you.” Caboose didn't seem to be in any trouble, at least, and he wasn't immediately blaming Tucker for breaking anything, so Wash allowed himself to stop worrying about him and start wondering at the hand that was still spread over his chest.

He was so warm that it almost burned, and Wash realized exactly how long it had been since a hand had touched him without intent to hurt.

“What do you need to talk about, Caboose?”

“I am sad that Church isn't here right now, but,” Caboose sighed harshly and his hand began to knead against Wash’s shirt like a large cat. “I don't want you to think it’s  because you are a bad leader. You are a GREAT leader! It’s just that, well, you are not my best friend.” None of it was information Wash didn't already have, but seeing Caboose struggle to put his thoughts into words was . . . actually _endearing_ , and he couldn't bring himself to try and hurry the process along. “See, even if you are not my best friend, I still want to be friends. A lot. I-I want to be friends with you, Agent Washington.”

“You can just call me Wash, remember buddy?” Wash said gently.

Caboose shuffled closer on his knees and his hand spread flat out again. His ring finger was brushing against Wash’s nipple, making the skin pucker and tighten and forcing Wash to begin actively ignoring the accidental stimulation.

“I want to be friends like Church and Tex were friends.”

. . . Okay, maybe the stimulation _wasn’t_ so accidental.

Wash noted how pink Caboose had gone in the dim lighting; his ears, cheeks, and even his neck were all flushed and his eyes had become bright and watery like pieces were falling into place inside his head. (Or whatever passed for realization in Caboose’s mind.)

“Caboose.” Wash said, carefully. “Are you saying that you have a . . . _crush_ , on me?” Even though the word made him feel unbelievably juvenile to say out loud, it was the best Wash could think of in this situation. Caboose was an adult, no matter what everyone else wanted to think of him, but, well, there was a certain fragility to him that made Wash want to soften whatever blows he could.

It seemed like all that Caboose was waiting for was for something to be said out loud. He took his hand off of Wash and clambered into the bed, and while he tried to settle himself so they both could lay together everything was a jumble of sharp elbows and knees in tender spaces while Wash tried to convince Caboose that they would never fit in the small space. But, lo and behold, about five minutes later they were settled on the creaking springs, Caboose laying flat with Wash nearly on top of him, tucked securely into his side. Their legs had tangled together and Wash knew his shirt was riding up to expose his back to the cool filtered air in the room, and one of his arms was pillowing Caboose’s head so they could look one another in the eye.

Caboose was grinning when he gave an actual answer.

“I would like to cuddle with you, aaand I would like to kiss you, aaaand I would like to spend time with you. Maybe not so much the kicking and the exploding and the shooting at each other but the rest of it sounds good!”  The same large, warm hand that had been on his chest earlier settled into the small of Wash’s back, and the skin-on-skin contact alone almost broke his resolve to talk more about this sudden revelation. Caboose hummed happily while he waited, fingers undulating restlessly into a massage of sorts.

“We’re--we’re in the middle of nowhere, Caboose. We don’t know when we’re going to get home, or even _if_ we are. A relationship is--I’m just, I’m not sure that this is a good idea.” Even as he was trying to explain, Wash found himself relaxing into the heat and the gentle touches. He knew that he couldn’t allow this to happen here, just like he knew there was still too much to do for tomorrow and he would have to get up and finish getting ready. Wash was well aware of all that he was doing wrong, but he just couldn't force himself to stand up and show Caboose out of his room.

Caboose didn’t really seem to think much about warning Wash gave him, instead coming to his own conclusion (as he often seemed to do) and lifting his head up so he could do a little persuading of his own.

They kissed, and it wasn’t quite like fireworks going off or world-shattering realizations of love--it was just a press of dry, soft lips that soon gave way to wet, exploring tongues and a feeling of . . . _content_.

For Wash, it might as well have been the same thing. He hadn't been held or kissed or even _noticed_ in so long that it was almost intoxicating to feel Caboose shyly tilt his head and control how deep each kiss went or how long they lasted.

There were still a million things to do, his body was still aching, and their situation hadn’t magically gotten better in the last five minutes since Caboose came to his room, but Wash found himself unable to focus on any of that now. All he could do was lay pressed against the warm body beneath him, and keep exchanging soft kisses and exploring touches until they were both _satisfied_.

Everything else could wait until morning, he decided.


End file.
